Help
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: Paul hates being helped by anyone, but Maylene's too naieve to know better. A slightly AU PaulMaylene oneshot that could be taken as friendship or romance.


AN: Contradicts canon a bit, but as it was done at the request of a friend, please overlook that fact. The official name for this pairing is Cobbleshipping, if anyone's curious. I opted to use PaulMaylene instead, though, for those who might not know. All feedback is appreciated, as I'm not sure how well this works. I own nothing. Please enjoy.

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Paul frowned.

He didn't want her help.

He didn't want her to hold him close or coddle him. He didn't like the touch of her hand, the harsh warmth against his cool skin. He didn't like the rough texture of her palms, the blunt, unchanneled strength in how she held his hand. He hated the feeling of her muscular, firm body up against his. He despised each and every little bit of physical contact they have, yet he couldn't refuse. Part of his heart stopped his body before he could so much as look at her wrong. He wanted to be his rude self, desperately so, but he couldn't pull away from her. The touch was unfamiliar, rough yet timid. He had to pause to figure her out, in a way. Her whole body contradicted what he grew up with.

What he grew up with. Images of his own weak, frail, pale and battered mother flash through his mind and suddenly Paul stopped mid insult. He could't insult her. He couldn't mock her clothes, her toughness, her bandages on her nose. He couldn't hit her hands away when she wrapped her warm, bare arms around him. If he hit her, glared at her, snapped at her, he'd be just like his father. Suddenly he wasn't sure if that's what he wanted. To the amazement of everyone present, icy, cold hearted Paul let immature, childish Maylene hold him close after a stray rock launched by her Machoke hit him square in the stomach. If anyone else so much as tapped him on the shoulder, he'd rip through them. Instead he accepted her help standing up.

That didn't mean he liked it. Despite pain shooting up his ribcage, he stood tall, arms wrapped around himself to keep his body from curling inward like it wanted to. His dark eyes didn't meet her light pink ones. Struggling to keep his breathing from becoming too fast or hard, he turned to leave. She could've stopped him with a word or a touch, but chose a hug. A warm, light hug that made his entire body tense as his cheeks reddened. He didn't want her to touch him, damnit. He didn't want her to fret over him or freak out over this. He didn't want her help or her sympathy.

Was it sympathy? Why was she almost crying?

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for Machoke to hit you. Please don't rush off. I'm sorry. I've only been a Gym Leader for a few months - I do my best, though!" And she threw her hands in the air dramatically. Her innocent expression disarmed him. Those wide eyes radiated sincerity. Paul felt his usual spite for the world begin to waver. "Come to my house, I've got some medical stuff there. It won't hurt, I promise!"

She was like a child. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to run far from her. Her angelic, utter goodwill was too much. Shaking his head, breaking eye contact, he took a few steps away from her, arms hanging by his side like nothing was wrong even as blood seeped through his shirt. No, he wasn't going to be weak like this. He wasn't going to let some girl help him. He didn't need help. He didn't need anyone at all. All he needed was to walk it off, and he'd be fine.

So he thought until, six steps later, his legs gave out beneath him.

Maylene rushed to him. No longer giving him a choice in the matter, her firm voice ordered another trainer to go get the first aid kit from her house and ordered another to fetch a pillow. Paul protested loudly, struggling to sit up, but pain sliced through his side and he went still. A sob escaped the pink haired girl's body as she rolled him onto his back, roughly brushing the hair out his eyes. He watched her through narrowed eyes. There was so much contradiction to her. Her touch was rough. Her body was that of a martial artist. Her expression and tears were that of a child's.

An ambulance's wail sounded. No! Paul sat up, pain be damned. He hated hospitals. He wouldn't go to one, he wouldn't do it! Ignoring Maylene's protests, he stood on violently shaking knees. His ribcage was on fire within him. He staggered forward anyway, stubbornly. Icy, coldhearted Paul was not going to go to the hospital because of a little girl's macho Pokemon. Yet even as he thought it, her arms wrapped around him. She couldn't touch his ribs, so her arms snuck below his arms and sround his shoulders. She had him locked into position, a true martial artist to the end. She was also gently massaging his shoulders, telling him it would be okay. Anger seared through him.

He wanted to strike her, to smack her like his father did his mother. He wanted her to drop to the floor for disobeying him. He wanted to cuss her out like a sailor. He wanted to charge ahead even though she was more than strong enough to restrain him. He wanted to scream, because one look at her face and he couldn't be abusive anymore. He couldn't be the echo of the violent role model he'd always had. Without any rage, he was lost as to how to handle her, how to handle this.

"I'm scared," he admitted softly, so only she could hear, meaning it in more ways than she could know.

"I'll be there!" she promised childishly, honestly.

"I hate being helped," Paul sighed, and with that he leaned back into her warm, firm embrace. "I really do."

Even so, she could swear she saw a smile on his usually indifferent face.


End file.
